“So you’re telling me no one will be sitting out front of the house making sure Kate is safe?” Zack shot back. “I know the corner house on Saint Charles Avenue. It’s big, surrounded by three streets. That’s a lot of ways to enter the property.”
“Zack, no one will know where she is staying. I’m sure she will be safe.” Mario stood. “Goodbye, ladies.”
“How soon before you get back to me on the signature?” Zack asked, talking to the back of Mario's head as he walked down the hall.
“I’ll make it a priority,” Mario shouted back without turning around. Right—a priority. In front of the five unsolved murders we’re working on, Mario’s thought. He smiled and continued walking.
Mario arrived at police headquarters in time for the morning briefing just as roll call started. Once completed, the meeting began with the chief, Gretchen Parks, going over priority cases. It took about ten minutes, and then she introduced Officer Olivia.
Mario smiled and gave a nod of his head. While he gave her a hard time, he knew she was a good detective. When he first met her, she was fresh out of college and a Tulane University top honor student. Mario graduated from Loyola University, and both were prestigious New Orleans schools if you wanted to study Criminal Justice.
Olivia Johansson gained respect from her department and the chief during her career and now headed up the Forensic Department.
“I have one more case to cover, and I would like to bring in Olivia Johansson to outline what the Forensic Department found,” Chief Parks said, stepping aside.
Olivia stood tall and relaxed, a big difference from the first time she presented a case when she fumbled words and knocked over a glass of water on the conference table.
“Good morning. I want to follow up on two things: Kate Fontenot’s attack and Angie Browning’s death. First, we’re happy Kate is doing well and is getting ready for release from the hospital,” she said, giving Mario a smile he could see from the back of the room.
The detectives gave a little applause, supporting Kate.
“Thank you,” Mario said.
“Chief, could you fill us in on Kate’s detail?” Olivia asked.
“I have gotten approval for around-the-clock surveillance for three days at the Fontenot residence on Saint Charles Avenue. Check with your supervisor for details and slots that are available for overtime. We don’t expect any trouble, but we never expected an attack in the hospital, either,” the chief said, and stepped to the side again.
Mario was happy to hear Kate was going to have security—the department didn’t have that type of money for overtime and seldom ever offered such protection. He gave a thumbs up to the chief, and she gave a smile back to Mario. It just showed Kate was as much of the family as he was. The New Orleans police took care of their own.
Olivia passed out a sheet of paper with a picture of Juice Boy, G-Man, and Angie Browning. “Okay, everyone has a copy? As you know, G-Man attacked Kate, but we’re not sure who gave the order. Julian ‘Juice Boy’ and Gordon ‘G-Man’ Gross both were killed in a transport van on their way to Calabar Prison. We are confident Angie killed them, but of course she died of an apparent overdose.”
The room complained. Some detectives had not heard Angie was dead.
A detective stepped forward. “Why was the bail so low on a double homicide?”
“You have to ask the judge that question,” she said.
Olivia was invited to a standing-room-only detective meeting to discuss her professional opinion of Angie Browning’s autopsy. Detectives interviewed employees at the Last Call Bar where Angie worked for two years. Workers recalled she drank a little, no more or less than other bartenders, and was always on time for work. Her rap sheet showed one minor arrest for assault while fixing a flat tire on the side of a road. The man later dropped the charges. Angie’s police records didn’t show any drug charges, and fellow workers said they never saw her use drugs. An autopsy showed cocaine found in her hand, on her lips, and in the lower part of her nostrils. The cocaine never made it beyond her septum. Angie did not die of an overdose.
Mario came from the back of the room. “Detective, someone went through a lot of trouble to make it look like she OD’d.”
“Correct, Detective,” Olivia said.
“Angie was killed. It is a picture-perfect hit. She shot G-Man and Juice Boy who attacked Kate, and now she is dead, leaving no witnesses to the assault on Kate. That is all I have at this time,” Olivia said, and turned the meeting over to Chief Parks.
“Before you guys and ladies go fishing for information on Angie’s bond—Judge Bernard ordered the bail,” the chief said. “We’re not sure why it was so low.”
“But Chief—” a detective said before she interrupted him.
“We checked with the bond company, and a woman by the name of Charlotte Riser put up the cash for Angie’s bail. Unfortunately, her identification is a bogus driver's license—the address directed us to an abandoned house. It looked like no one has lived there for years. I’ll have more tomorrow. Thank you.”
Mario came down to the front and greeted Olivia with a smile. “Nice presentation for a Tulane girl.”
“Wow, Mario, that was almost a compliment.”
“You know me, I have to give you a hard time.”
Olivia gave Mario a look, and he followed her to a corner table. “There is something I didn’t say because I’m not ready to announce it yet. I found something during the autopsy that struck my interest. Angie had a very high potassium count.”
“So what?” Mario asked.
“Remember last year that case with your friend—what was his name?”
It was unusual for Mario to feel queasy, but his stomach made a flip. “You mean Zack Nelson. He found a rag damp with chloroform next to his bed.”
“That older lady at Riverside had a high count of potassium and died of a heart attack. Zack Nelson’s wife died of a heart attack and several other people at Riverside Inn. I don’t know why I checked Angie’s potassium. Maybe because everyone was so hung up on the cocaine overdose, but I could only find a trace of cocaine in her nostrils,” Olivia rattled on while her brain processed everything. “There was no forcible entry and the police that found Angie showed no struggle inside the house. I think she knew the person and he overcame her with something like chloroform and gave her a high dosage of potassium, causing a heart attack.”
“Olivia, I need a favor,” Mario said.
“Oh, the Loyola boy needs some help from a Tulane girl,” she said, giving him a grin.
Mario laughed it off. “See if you can get the autopsy records for Ruth Weitman. She died at Riverside about ten days ago. I don’t know if there is a connection, but if this woman died with a high potassium count, there is a problem at Riverside.”
“How does Angie tie into Riverside?” she asked.
“I don’t know. If Angie does, we have a serial killer on our hands,” Mario said.
Olivia was happy to check Ruth’s records. Being proficient in details and working cold cases were her specialty. It would be an easy challenge, dating back only ten days. It was more personal to Olivia to show her forensic talent—solving a case and impressing her detective friend was a plus.
Mario went back to his desk made some phone calls and walked to his car in the garage. He sat in the car, not knowing how he even got there. It was one of those times his mind took completely over his body. Like driving the same route every day and your mind wondered, you went through two traffic lights and half a dozen stop signs, not remembering any of it, but got to your destination safely.
A tap on the driver’s side window startled him. “What?” he shouted, pulling the window down only to find Truman standing with a radio in his hand.
“You forgot your radio,” Truman said, giving Mario the radio through the window. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, a little shook up. I’m heading to the hospital to pick up Kate,” he said, taking the radio. “Thanks.”
&
nbsp; Mario drove off. He knew very well what the problem was: Zack could have been right all along about the deaths at Riverside. What Olivia uncovered was accidental, but too many pieces were connecting, and that gave a chill to Mario’s spine.
He arrived at the hospital’s side entrance and met Kate’s father and his driver. Mario was well aware of her domineering father. He once told Mario he couldn’t keep Kate in the lifestyle she was accustomed to, and it was best they never marry. Mario argued that his excellent police work got him promoted to detective and one day he could be the chief or the mayor. It wasn’t the police work that would hold him back, it was where he came from, the other side of town, her father said more than once, repeating the fact that Mario’s upbringing was an entirely different culture from Kate’s Garden District society life. It was a lifestyle she cherished and had grown accustomed to—Mario couldn’t compete. That was what Mario’s side of the family called old money from the Garden District. They had never been outside their circle of friends, clubs, and boardrooms. If you were not the King of Rex or Comus parades on Mardi Gras Day or your wife or daughter Queen sometime in your life, you just didn’t fit into their social life.
Kate’s father, Mr. Hester Fontenot, made his money the old-fashioned way—he inherited it. Her mother joined the marriage with even more money. Kate told him her grandmother thought they were a match from heaven. They made for a great arranged marriage—if you went by financial statements. And, while her father told people about how rich he made his family, the truth was his only involvement in the business was a seat on the board; in meeting he had little input and was not well respected by other members.
Out of respect, Mario shook hands with Mr. Fontenot and Ray, their family driver, at the side entrance of the hospital.
“Kate looked good last night,” Mario said. “Getting her home is going to be good for her and help with her recovery.”
“The newspaper published that her attack was some revenge on you,” Hester said. “Now Kate has to suffer because of your work with criminals.”
“Sir, I don’t collaborate with criminals. I take criminals off the street and put them in jail.” Mario held his ground, standing against an angry father or just a plain fool. Even without the attack, her father still would hate his profession. But he would be the first to call the police when a suspicious car passed slowly around his house more than once.
A nurse rolling Kate in a wheelchair and her mother walking by her side came through the glass sliding doors of the hospital. Mario smiled and was happy to see her and even more pleased to end the conversation with her opinionated father.
Two motorcycle police officers pulled up as Kate got positioned in the back seat of the family limousine. Mario briefed them on what was needed, and they got in position to escort the limousine to the Garden District. I bet you don’t mind protection or an escort by New Orleans’s fines, Mario thought, giving Hester a look from the corner of his eye.
“I’ll see you at the house,” Mario said, giving Kate a kiss.
The motorcycles pulled out in the street. One led the motorcade down Tulane Avenue, the other blocked traffic then followed behind. The plan was to have security but not be obvious. Mario, in his unmarked police cruiser, drove half a block behind the limo. Everything was going fine. The limo driver followed all directions, even turning on a red light when traffic allowed just like Mario told him. They made a few turns and then the limo turned left on Poydras Street, passing the Super Dome, home of the New Orleans Saints. That gave Hester a chance to bring up something with Kate and her mother to get their mind off what was going on.
“We’ve seen a lot of good games here,” Hester said.
Kate smiled. “Yes, we have. I’m looking forward to next season.”
The limousine came to a stop at the corner of Poydras and Saint Charles Avenue right across the street from One Shell Square. The motorcycle officers ran through the red light, but the limo had two cars between them and had to stop. Mario was four cars behind and started to pull to the left lane that was open and would put him next to Kate’s car, but he was cut off by a speeding car that stopped for the light next to the limo.
Mario watched as a beautifully restored and freshly painted 1957 Chev Bel Air pulled up next to the limo. It had questionable legal tinted windows, so he couldn’t make out for sure how many people were in the car, but was certain there was someone in the passenger’s seat. Working with the Police Gang Squad several years before becoming a detective, he was taught to look out for these type of cars. The gang members loved them and were some status symbol in their deranged minds. A reconditioned old Chev was the trademark of a group, especially the Cornerview Gang. The leader drove a one-of-a-kind reconditioned Pontiac, Oldsmobile, and sometimes even a Cadillac. Members that did the work of a thief, intimidation, and murder drove Chevys. And, when reconditioned to this quality, they were earners, and that meant you had to be concerned. They were sick people and would just as soon kill you than talk to you.
The traffic light was still red. The corner was a heavily traveled intersection, and it would be a full two minutes for the light sequence to change. The passenger’s window of the Chev rolled down. Mario’s was uneasy, or maybe it was his paranoia kicking in. Either way, he raced up the left lane, slamming on his breaks behind the Chev. One police motorcycle drove up Saint Charles Avenue against traffic, and the other cop took to the sidewalk to get to the corner quicker. The Chev was blocked in and couldn’t move forward. Mario jumped out the car with his gun drawn, waving traffic to go as the light turned green. The limousine quickly turned right, and one motorcycle officer followed the limo.
With his gun drawn Mario, demanded the driver and passenger to get out the car with their hands in the air. He requested a second time as the officer got off his motorcycle and stood ready to assist with a hand on his revolver.
Both doors of the Chev opened at the same time. The driver, a man with long hair—or was it a woman?—Mario couldn’t be sure. A young boy got out the passenger's side and stood by the car. The driver reached and pulled a knit hat off, letting her blonde hair drop shoulder length.
“What the hell, officer?” the woman screamed with her hands in the air.
“Sorry, we’re on duty. You fit a profile,” Mario said, putting his gun into his holster.
Without further explanation, Mario and the motorcycle cop drove at a high rate of speed down Saint Charles Avenue to catch up with the limousine. They reached the limo as it was turning off the avenue to a side street, pulling up to a large four-car garage that the driver opened by a remote button in the limo.
Kate was safe at home and was never in any real danger, but Mario wasn’t going to relax until she landed inside her father’s home. She may have been safe from the craziness of the outside world, but to Mario, it wasn’t all that much better living with her father.
The housekeeper, Amelia, had lunch ready. Ever since Hester took full control of the family fortune and they moved into his father’s estate, they needed a full-time housekeeper. Amelia had been with the Fontenot family for over twenty years and just about raised Kate.
They all sat down in the dining room, which was a little too formal for Mario. There was fresh fruit cut in squares laid out perfectly on a crystal platter, finger sandwiches, bagels, and pastries. It looked like a lot just for lunch, but according to Kate, that was how lunch was presented several times a week. Mario was amazed at how each piece of fruit was cut perfectly. It either took a long time and a steady hand to cut it that way or there was some kitchen device she used that he was not aware even existed. Kate picked at her food and retired to her room, giving everyone a kiss on the cheek for their support and getting her home safely. Her mother helped Kate get settled in her room, leaving Mario alone with Hester.
Mario looked up at Hester. Perfect! Just perfect that I’m left with this windbag.
“What was that all about at the traffic light?” Hester asked.
Mario shifted the fru
it on his plate with a solid silver fork. He couldn’t help but think one piece cost more than his eight-piece flatware set purchased from JC Penny’s. “That Chev fits a profile, and I didn’t want to take any chances,” Mario finally replied.
“So you come storm a car with your gun drawn on a hunch?” Hester said, throwing his cloth napkin on the table. “Just how much danger have you put this family in?”
“Sir, the police are working on solving the attack and will have a patrol car out front for the next few days. I believe everyone is safe,” Mario said, standing and tossing his napkin too.
“I believe it’s time for you to go catch killers. Amelia will show you out,” Hester said then walked off.
Mario held his tongue. “I know my way out, sir.”
The day was moving fast, and it was past noon already. Mario did some follow-up leads in a case he was working, but now a priority had transferred to the front of his agenda. Olivia Johansson had struck a nerve with the potassium theory.
Mario took the avenues through the city and pulled his cruiser into the underground parking garage of the New Orleans Police Headquarters.The garage always had a smell, maybe because it was underground, dark, damp, and humid most of the time. He passed several open-air work cubicles on the way to his office, a room he and Truman shared.
“Detective Mario, the chief is looking for you,” a lady carrying papers from the copy room whispered to Mario as they made eye contact in the hallway.
Hopefully, Olivia told the chief about her findings and the connection of potassium, he thought as he reached his office.
“Mario! Chief Parks wants to see you,” Truman said as soon as Mario walked in.
Mario put his gun in a drawer. “Must be important—you’re the second person hitting me up about Gretchen.”
“The chief is on a mission this morning. She’s on everyone’s ass.”
It was best not to delay the chief’s request, and Mario went to her office. As he started to knock on the glass insert of the wooden door displaying her name and title, he stopped.
Crescent City Detective Page 14
